Stephanie's day started out surprisingly well which, in retrospect, probably should have been a sign.
Since the U.S.S. Avenger had been transported to the far side of the galaxy, good days had increasingly become luxuries rather than a matter of course. This was doubly true for her as she usually had a long list of traumatized crew waiting for her to help them through whatever latest trauma they'd all experienced. Back home, where the biggest headache was often a malfunctioning holodeck, having only one counselor on ship had been more than enough.
Here, where it seemed they faced death on a weekly basis, it was woefully inadequate.
She dragged herself out of bed, showered and dressed in her uniform, the blue linking her to the Medical field in spite of detractors who tried to deny her position had any health benefits at all.
She'd be curious to see if they held the same view of therapy after watching insectoids drag five of their screaming crewmates through a breached hull while their mother ship did its best to incinerate the rest of them.
She tugged her blonde hair into a thick, shoulder length ponytail, allowed some tendrils to escape and frame her face to soften the look, and headed out.
The Mess Hall was already moderately crowded when she arrived, crewmembers scattered about as they either came on shift or left. Several greeted her and Stephanie nodded in return as she headed toward the bar.
"Ah, Lieutenant," Bruce said, smiling at her from the other side of the counter. "The usual?"
Stephanie stopped in front of him, rested her hands on the surface of the bar and idly tapped her fingers against the glossy surface. "Yes, please."
The quiet man serenely retreated to get her order. His name wasn't actually Bruce, but few had been able to pronounce his real name. A portion of it sounded like Bruce and he had been gracious enough to allow it, treating it like an affectionate nickname.
He'd only been on the ship a month, after they rescued him from a crippled space freighter, but had already proven invaluable to ship morale with his cooking and personality. In many ways, he was proving to be a second counselor, and Stephanie was more than grateful for the help.
Bruce returned with a plate of food and a cup of coffee. Stephanie thanked him warmly and headed toward a table set near the large viewports that provided a spectacular view of space. Natasha, the ship's Chief Security Officer, was already there, waiting. The narrow ridges on her nose and the ear cuff marked her as Bajoran, as did her no nonsense attitude, a trademark of a people who'd once lived under the rule of Cardassia.
Up until six months prior, she and Stephanie had never so much as exchanged a word. They'd had nothing in common back home, and after arriving in the Delta Quadrant, they'd been too focused on keeping themselves, and those around them, alive.
And then they'd run into the U.S.S. Hydra, a fellow Federation Starship that had been trapped in Delta Quadrant for well over a hundred years.
At first the Avenger crew had been overjoyed. Finally, something going their way. Something familiar. Colleagues who could help them navigate the new area of space they found themselves in.
And then the Hydra had opened fire on them, and hard reality had settled in.
In their excitement to see another Federation ship, no one had really stopped to consider just what it mean to be trapped in the Delta Quadrant for so long. The original crew was long gone, replaced entirely by those born and raised after the ship had become trapped. To them, the Delta Quadrant was home. They had no love for a galaxy they'd never seen, and certainly no loyalty to a Federation they'd only heard about in stories.
At some point, long before the Avenger encountered them, they'd started to take a turn into a more mercenary mindset, and the crew had become divided. In the entire, those desiring piracy had won out, and soon coalesced into a new, far more violent crew, under the command of their captain, Johann Schmidt.
The mere thought of the man sent a shudder through Stephanie, and she shied away from the thought as if just thinking of him might somehow cause him to appear. Why he'd chosen to fixate on her during their brief encounter, she still didn't know, but if it hadn't been for the captain and Natasha refusing to leave her behind…
"Big day planned?" Natasha asked dryly, nodding at the large plate of food, as Stephanie set it down and took a seat across from her.
"More like big day yesterday," Stephanie groused, feeling her stomach rumble. She gave herself a mental shake and tried to steer her mind toward more pleasant topics. "I keep running out of time to eat."
"The crew whines too much," Natasha said, idly popping a piece of fruit Stephanie didn't recognize in her mouth. "You should refuse to see them. You end up coddling them, and then they just whine more."
Stephanie sighed, recognizing that Natasha was just trying to wind her up, mostly. "It isn't whining. They've been separated from their friends, families and homes and everything they've ever known. They've watched their colleagues die in front of them, and face death themselves constantly."
Natasha shrugged. "Me too but you don't hear me complaining about it."
"That's because you're in charge of security and you take out your stress in training," Stephanie said dryly. "Not everyone handles stress through violence."
Natasha shrugged. "Maybe they should."
Stephanie decided to let it go. Natasha enjoyed sparring, verbally and physically, and Stephanie didn't feel like engaging in a long debate over the merits of verbal therapy versus therapy through violence. "We'll have to agree to disagree. What are your plans for the day?"
"First contact with the Orci," Natasha replied. "Not sure why the captain still insists on calling it first contact. Everything over here is first contact."
"True," Stephanie agreed. They'd been forced to rely heavily on trade to help keep Avenger stocked with everything she needed. Bruce had been invaluable in this regard. He'd traveled all over and was a great resource on where to go and who to talk to.
The Orci being a case in point. Bruce didn't know a lot about them, other than they were a race that possessed warp capabilities but generally chose to stay within the confines of their own solar system. They tended to keep to themselves, but were open to communication and trade with ships that passed through their system.
"I'm not looking forward to it," Natasha was saying, and Stephanie tuned back in with a frown.
"Why not?"
"Why do you think?" the other woman said in annoyance. "It's going to be hours standing there while Commander Barton exchanges pleasantries and then it'll all be talk, talk, talk which is irritating to begin with but is going to be even worse because we have to use a damn living translator which will take even longer."
Stephanie gave her a sympathetic look and hid the flash of relief she felt over not having to be involved in the mission. Several races in possession of their own versions of Universal Translators had reported that the technology, for unknown reasons, could not decipher the Orci language. Avenger had no reason to think theirs would function any better and had located a native to the system who could translate for them during the trade negotiations.
Natasha was giving her a knowing look. "You do realize you're listed on the away team, right?"
Stephanie gaped. "I'm what now?"
"Captain Stark thought it would be helpful to have you there, to gauge the mood of the negotiations." Natasha grinned. "That's what you get for being an empath."
"Barely!" Stephanie said in dismay. Her great grandparents had been from Betazed originally but moved to Earth where her grandmother had married a human man, as had her mother leaving Stephanie with only a small percentage of her heritage Betazoid, or possessing any sort of empathic abilities. "It's more intuition than anything else," she insisted to Natasha, "and sometimes I don't even notice it if I'm not paying close attention."
Natasha shrugged. "Well, the captain apparently thinks it's better than nothing."
Stephanie groaned and began gathering up her tray.
"Where are you going?" Natasha asked. "You've barely even started eating."
"I had a full day of appointments scheduled," Stephanie said in irritation. It would have been nice had something thought to tell her that she was scheduled to be off ship for the day. "If I'm going to be gone, then I'll have to reschedule them." And wouldn't that be fun? She already had a full day scheduled for tomorrow, and the next day after that as well. Stupid Vidiians. Avenger had encountered them a week earlier and left much of the crew in desperate need of the ship's counselor in their wake.
"Sorry," Natasha said, not that she looked sorry. "If it's any consolation at least you get to leave the ship for a while."
"That's why we have the Holdoeck," Stephanie grumbled as she walked away.
James Buchanan Barnes was having a truly awful day.
It started when he woke up to sunlight streaming into his eyes from the window next to his bed.
Given that his shift was supposed to start well before the sun rose, this was a very bad thing. The situation only got worse when he realized the thing that had woken him up was the insistent beeping of his compad.
With a muttered oath, he leapt out of bed with the full-blown panic of a man late to work, tossing the blankets to fall in a heap on the floor.
The cold air of the room made him grimace, but it didn't slow him as he reached for the pad on the nightstand beside the bed. The incoming link was from his supervisor, and there were two missed calls listed before that one, also from him.
James thumbed the acceptance button, only to belatedly realize he probably should have put a shirt on first.
The screen cleared to reveal Captain Thorne, an older grizzled man who had appreciated the peace declared between the northern and southern continents five years earlier, until he'd realized he'd spent his entire life in the military during wartime and had no idea what to do when there was nothing left to fight.
"Sergeant," he said, his voice casual in the way that could mean anything from he was calm to he was planning to kill you. "Planning to report to work sometime today?"
"Yes, sir," James said instantly, not daring to correct the man on the use of his title. He'd served under Captain Thorne for the last three years of the war. He'd had a lot of respect for the older man and had willingly followed him out of the service when the older man had retired. They'd both hoped to find a little more to do in the private sector, particularly through working security at the capitol where people from all over the world, and farther, often came through. So far it hadn't exactly fulfilled either of their expectations, but it was a job and they did it to the best of their abilities. "I'm sorry, sir," he continued. "I must have forgotten to set my alarm last night."
"Don't give me any excuses, Sergeant," Thorne growled. "Just get in here. We've got a party coming in today from some fancy-assed starship up in orbit. Haven't traded with them before and the Council wants to make a good impression."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." James said, already moving to grab his clothes. He already knew all that from the briefing the day before, down to the ship's name, the name of her captain and the translator chosen to help the two sides communicate. Captain Thorne was repeating the information to demonstrate how low his opinion of his subordinate's IQ had fallen. "I'll be there right away."
"You better be," Thorne said sharply. "And put a shirt on, Barnes. This isn't the Bondmate Database."
"No, sir," James agreed, embarrassed. "Won't happen again."
"No," Thorne said, "it won't, because you won't have a job if it does."
The link ended and James threw on the black shirt and pants, and sliver boots and gloves that comprised his uniform. He buckled on the belt carrying the disruptor he'd never had to use and ran a hand through his hair in the hopes it would come out looking mildly presentable.
He didn't bother with breakfast, pausing just long enough to grab a thermos of coffee from the dispenser in the kitchen before running out the door toward the lift station.
The last thing he wanted to do was lose his job, especially not after his date the night before had gone so well. The fact he'd gotten a date at all was a big deal. On Orci, bonds were arranged by parents or close family members. This meant, in the case of an orphan like him, his only prospects for finding someone was on the Bondmate Database. It was populated by others with similar stories to his, orphans or those who'd had bondmates arranged for them, but they had fallen through. The young woman he'd met the night before, for example, Tria, had lost her arranged bondmate when he'd run off with another woman.
James had never expected to meet anyone, let alone a young woman who'd been as interested as Tria had seemed to be. Families, after all, didn't arrange just bondmates for their children, but careers as well. Jobs were passed down, generation to generation, which left little room for someone like him to find a place. In the end, he'd joined the military not just because he'd wanted to, but because he'd had no other place to go.
It had worked out for him in many ways, not the least of which was meeting Captain Thorne who'd mentored him and helped him get set up after the war ended. It hadn't helped quite as much on the Bondmate Database, where competition was fierce and someone with a job as a security guard didn't always draw the most interest.
Or at least he hadn't until last night when he'd met Tria for their first date. The thought of her had him increasing his pace, until he was at a flat out run toward the lift station. He was lucky that Tria had agreed to go out at all, it was highly unlikely she'd want to do so again if she found out he'd lost his job.
He reached the station and felt his heart drop as the lift soared up and into the sky over his head.
Captain Thorne was going to kill him.
He shook his head at his own stupidity and broke into a run toward the next nearest station, several blocks away. He darted past groups of people, ignoring the looks of censure they shot his way. Orci, now that the war had ended, prided itself on being peaceful and quiet. The cities had been rebuilt to included tall buildings with sweeping, clean lines, and litter free streets lined with trees and small parks. Transport vehicles zipped by overhead, nearly soundless, and people walked casually, and talked to quietly that it was easy to hear birds chirping away in the trees.
None of it was built for him to be running like a madman toward his destination.
He made it to the second lift just as the doors were closing and jumped on, collapsing onto a seat with his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face and his shirt was damp at the collar and under the arms.
As he leaned back in his seat, he caught sight of a trio of women occupying a bench running along the other side of the car further down. One smiled at him, and he nodded back, politely. Her clothing marked her as unbonded, a jumpsuit that covered her from the neck down, complete with gloves and shoes and a cowl that hid everything but the very front of her face. A permanent bond among Orci could be formed by the most accidental of skin-to-skin contact, and those at risk were often kept safely at home until they could be safely bonded to whomever their family had chosen for them. When they did come out it was always with guards, be it family or otherwise, to protect them from someone an unwanted bond, accidental or otherwise. No one was ever forced to stay with an unwanted bondmate, but once that bond was created it could only be undone by the death of one of the partners.
One of the other women gave him a warning look and slid an arm around the girl, pulling her close. James realized he'd been staring and quickly looked away with a pang of guilt. It hadn't been his intent to make them uncomfortable and he made sure to keep his eyes to himself for the rest of the trip, getting off quickly at his stop and breaking back into a run.
The main seat of Orci government was located at the center of a huge park filled with carefully manicured lawns, beds of colorful flowers and delicate trees. The building itself was enormous, the tallest in the city, with rounded corners and copious amounts of large glass windows ensuring the inside was flooded with natural light. Corridors branched off from the ground floor level, leading to ancillary buildings that radiated off from the main one like spokes.
James ran through one of the doors and quickly slowed to a walk as soon as his boots hit the gray tiled floor of the interior. He strode quickly through the corridor, blank white walls on one side and all glass on the other, until he reached the lobby. There the place opened into a massive room with a fountain dominating the center. It depicted various sculptures of birds with water cascading down into a pool.
He made his way to the door leading into the security office, the pneumatics giving a slight hiss as they parted to let him in. Inside he caught sight of Captain Thorne standing in front of a large table. On its surface were a myriad of images from all levels of the building as well as monitors showing everything from audio files to the current health of various Council members. How Captain Thorne kept track of it all, James had no idea, but the man seemed to do it effortlessly.
As James approached the man spoke without bothering to look at him. "I know you didn't report for duty covered in sweat with a wrinkled uniform, Barnes."
James froze. For the first time he looked down at the uniform he'd grabbed and was horrified to see it was, indeed, wrinkled. "No, sir," he said instantly, backing away slowly. "I would never disrespect your department, sir."
"I wouldn't think so," Thorin stated, still looking at the monitor. "I reassigned your shift. Your new one starts in fifteen minutes. I suggest you use the time wisely."
"I will, sir," James said, wishing there was a way to throw in a few more sirs without seeming as much like a sycophant as he was trying to sound. Captain Thorne hated sycophants. "Thank you...sir."
He got a grunt in response and took that as the dismissal it was. He spun on one foot and headed to the back of the room where the dispensers were. He quickly called up a fresh uniform, grabbed it as soon as it appeared and headed out the back door toward the showers.
The door he'd exited opened into corridors used by staff, they were narrower and on the interior of the building so the only light they got was artificial. Several other guards passed him by as he walked, a few nodding in greeting.
"What happened, Bucky?" one of the men asked, using the nickname James had picked up somewhere along the way. "Forget you had to work today?"
"Something like that," James answered, deciding not to mention his date. He didn't have the time to put up with the ribbing.
"Better hurry," the man shouted back as he passed him. "That group from the starship has been here almost four hours already and you were supposed to be part of the team keeping an eye on them. Captain had to put Jundland in your place and you know how he is."
James sighed. He knew exactly how Jundland was. He broke into a run again, to reach the showers. If Jundland created an incident Thorne would kill the man, and then he'd kill James for having set it up to happen by being late.
